


Triad

by riventhorn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-12
Updated: 2011-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Mercian army marches on Camelot, but Arthur has forbidden Merlin from using his magic in the battle. Gwaine must try to comfort Merlin and find out exactly what Arthur thinks he is doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eldee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldee/gifts).



> Happy (early) Birthday, eldee!
> 
> Thank you to archaeologist_d for the beta!

Bayard began prowling the borders, like a wolf that scented its weakened prey, as soon as Uther’s tomb was shut. First came reports of an ambush, then a skirmish, then an army marching on Camelot. Arthur buckled on his armor, hefted Excalibur, and led his own force out of the gates, his gaze hard-set on the road before them.

And Merlin rode behind him, his own eyes fixed on Arthur’s back, his mouth turning downwards in a scowl.

Not an auspicious beginning, to Gwaine’s mind. Bad enough to be on a campaign, forced to suffer muddy roads, thin blankets, monotonous food, and a damned battle at the end of it all. But even worse to have both the princess—make that _king_ —and Merlin at odds with each other. For one, it meant that Gwaine could forget about spending the night in Arthur’s comfortable tent. For another, it meant that Arthur would be in a horrible mood, snapping at everyone and withdrawing into himself, cold and aloof. And Merlin would be a wreck, alternately miserable and furious, his magic crackling out like the spines of a hedgehog.

The magic was the reason for the disagreement, of course. Sometimes, Gwaine rather wished that Merlin had continued to keep his secret and stayed the brave, sweet, clumsy, insubordinate servant to whom Arthur and everyone else, including Gwaine, had grown accustomed. No one quite knew what to do with Merlin now, especially Arthur.

It had been shortly after Uther fell ill, when his condition worsened enough that everyone knew it was only a matter of time before death claimed him, that Merlin went to Arthur and told him the truth. He told Gwaine next, huddled in a miserable ball in Gwaine’s bed because Arthur had shouted at him, furious with Merlin for keeping such a secret for so long. Gwaine was shocked at the revelation, then curious, and then strangely awed. Seeing Merlin’s power, understanding what he had done for all of them, how they owed him their lives—it was difficult to know how to react. One look at Merlin’s wretched, forlorn expression had been enough for Gwaine to push his feelings aside, take Merlin into his arms, and kiss him thoroughly, assuring him that the knowledge changed nothing, that he still loved Merlin and always would. But in truth, it did change things, and it took Arthur, who was never good at hiding his feelings, awhile to grapple with the consequences.

They had finally reconciled—Gwaine had been left alone in his bed _that_ night, and in the morning he stumbled into a happy, sated Merlin and an Arthur who was, if it were possible, more hopelessly in love with Merlin than ever. But things were still difficult and awkward at times, as Arthur and Merlin tried to work out what exactly it meant for the king to have a sorcerer at his side and for Arthur to have one in his bed.

Gwaine did what he could to ease the process along. He still wasn’t quite sure how the three of them had settled into—well, whatever one wanted to call the relationship between them. Arthur was, frankly, possessive when it came to Merlin. And Gwaine didn’t take too kindly to sharing either. But somehow it worked. Sex was a part of it—whether it was he and Merlin curled around each other; Arthur beckoning him into the armory after practice, sweaty and impatient; or the three of them tangled together in Arthur’s bed. But it was also the times when Arthur came to ask his opinion on some matter and stayed to laugh over a joke Gwaine had heard in the tavern, or when he and Merlin teased Arthur mercilessly on a hunt until Arthur became flustered and irritated, or when he appropriated custard tarts from the kitchens for Merlin who was partial to anything sweet.

It was with this in mind that Gwaine fished into his saddlebags for the packet of thin almond wafers he had finagled from one of the scullery maids. Drawing his horse beside Merlin’s, he handed over the packet. Merlin sighed, took it, and started munching morosely on a wafer.

“Come, my friend,” Gwaine said, nudging his shoulder. “It’s a beautiful day, we’re out on the open road, and with any luck we’ll find a tavern or two along the way. Why such a long face?”

“Arthur,” Merlin muttered. “He refuses to let me use my magic in the battle. He almost made me stay behind in Camelot before I reminded him that _I am a powerful sorcerer who could turn him into a toad with barely a thought_!” This last was said loudly so that Arthur, riding ahead of them, would overhear. Arthur rode on without looking back, although his shoulders took on a stubborn cast.

“I suppose he has his reasons,” Gwaine said diplomatically, although privately he thought that having a sorcerer standing next to him, sending flaming arrows into the enemy, sounded like a damn good idea.

“He’s a stupid, arrogant, _imbecile_.” Merlin crunched into a wafer with unnecessary force, crumbs flying.

Arthur still did not turn around.

Gwaine spent the rest of the day trying to coax Merlin into a better mood, with little success. When he tried riding next to Arthur and questioning him about what the hell he thought he was doing, Arthur ordered him coldly back into the column and spurred his horse ahead.

After they made camp that evening, Merlin sat down on a log, crossed his arms, and began doing little spells. He whisked Arthur’s cloak off his shoulders, startling Arthur’s squire half to death. He snapped his fingers and Arthur’s tent assembled itself in a twinkling. Excalibur leaped out of its scabbard and a whetstone began running up and down the blade. Arthur clenched his jaw and did his best to ignore the proceedings.

“Give it a rest, Merlin,” Gwaine suggested when Merlin enchanted Arthur’s cup to hover in front of his mouth during supper, tilting forward whenever Arthur wanted a drink. It was just the three of them at the small table, the other knights having found excuses to be elsewhere. Gwaine did not blame them.

“He _knows_ what I can do,” Merlin said, frustration raising his voice. He glared at Arthur, who stared determinedly at his plate. “I just want to help him. I’m not going to sit in camp, twiddling my thumbs, while you’re out on the battlefield. When either one of you could get killed any second.”

Arthur’s control finally snapped. “You will do as I tell you, Merlin!”

“I will not follow your ridiculous orders!” Merlin shouted back, and his eyes started to shimmer with gold. Gwaine edged away, not quite sure what Merlin was about to do. Outside, he could hear the wind beginning to pick up and the nervous whinnying of the horses. A plangent shudder of thunder shook the ground.

Merlin’s eyes were completely gold now. He and Arthur had both stood and were facing each other.

“Do you think I cannot protect myself, Arthur?” Merlin raised his hand and lightning flashed down. Gwaine could hear people shouting outside and the patter of rain hammering into the walls of the tent. “Do you think I cannot fell those who oppose you?”

Gwaine realized that he was crouched on the ground, hand clenching the pommel of his sword. He forced his fingers to relax, reminding himself that this was Merlin who would never hurt them. And yet he couldn’t deny being a little afraid of the strange, fey creature in front of him.

Arthur’s face was pale, but he hadn’t moved an inch from where he stood. His voice was calm and quiet when he spoke; Gwaine could hardly hear it over the howling of the wind. “You took an oath to obey me, Merlin. You laid your power at my feet. Are your words meaningless?”

And just like that, Merlin deflated, his shoulders sagging, the light going out of his eyes. Silence fell abruptly. “No,” Merlin said. Slowly, he sank to his knees, head bowed. “I am yours to command.” His voice was choked as he continued, “I—I will do as you say.”

Arthur brushed his fingers through Merlin’s hair once, lightly, and then turned away, sitting back down at the table and pulling a stack of maps towards him. “Now leave me. Both of you.”

Merlin was silent as they went to the smaller tent that had been set up for Gwaine.

“Arthur—it’s hard for him, right now,” Gwaine said at last as they lay side by side in the blankets.

“I know.” Merlin sighed and then rolled over, giving him a small smile. “You should go to him, Gwaine. He needs someone with him tonight.”

“But you—”

“I’ll be fine. Really.”

“You could come as well.”

“I could, but then I really might turn Arthur into a toad.”

Gwaine snorted, shook his head, but got up, putting his boots on again. “Go on,” Merlin urged, and so he ducked out, blowing Merlin a kiss, which made him roll his eyes and grin.

Arthur was still awake when Gwaine arrived, poring over the maps and making notes. A servant hovered at his shoulder, hiding his yawns behind his hand.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, frowning.

Gwaine didn’t answer, sitting down and propping his feet up on a stool instead. He stretched his arms, crossing them behind his head. “Princesses need their beauty sleep, you know.”

Arthur gave him a wry look. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

“And lose my chance at sleeping on that soft mattress we hauled twenty miles today? No.”

Sighing, Arthur pushed aside the maps. “Very well.” He motioned to the servant. “You’re dismissed.”

The man bowed, pausing to straighten the blankets on the bed before leaving.

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to take off your boots,” Gwaine said, getting up and leaning over Arthur’s chair.

Arthur craned his neck back to look at him. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered, his head coming to rest against Gwaine’s chest. His eyes slid shut.

“You’re not falling asleep in the chair,” Gwaine told him, taking an arm to tug Arthur to his feet.  
He got Arthur over to the bed and then found himself kneeling anyway, drawing off his boots. Glancing up, he saw a smile hovering around Arthur’s mouth.

“Don’t say a word,” he warned, and Arthur laughed, shaking his head.

Arthur didn’t protest when Gwaine crawled into the bed next to him. He would have been willing to do a bit more, but Arthur seemed content to simply lie there, curled on his side. After a moment, he trailed his fingers up Arthur’s spine and began stroking his neck, right where his hair was shorn close to his skin. Arthur hummed in appreciation.

“It’s just that Merlin doesn’t understand,” Gwaine said quietly. “Hell, I don’t understand it for that matter. By the reports, Bayard’s army outnumbers us and any advantage we can—”

Arthur cut him off. “The matter isn’t up for discussion.”

Gwaine grimaced. “All right. But you should talk to him.”

*

The next day, as the army crawled slowly forwards, scouts rode back with the news that Bayard had sent an advance force to guard the ford of a river which lay across their path. The water was rushing strong and full at this time of year.

Arthur called Leon, Lancelot, and Gwaine to him. Merlin hovered awkwardly on the edges until Arthur gestured for him to join them.

“We can take the ford, sire,” Leon said, “but it will cost us dearly.”

Arthur nodded, looking grim. “And we can’t afford to lose anyone. Merlin—” He paused and then continued, a touch hesitantly, “Is there anything you can do so that we can cross the river further downstream?”

Merlin looked surprised and then pleased. “Yes, sire. If we find the right sort of place, I should be able to draw a bridge out of the stones lining the bank.”

Gwaine clapped him on the back. “And then we can attack Bayard’s men at the ford before they’re aware!”

“We could or we could plan a bolder move,” Arthur said. “We bypass the ford entirely and come upon Bayard and his army, unexpected. Even with only a small part of his force absent, it will help even the odds.”

Lancelot looked skeptical. “It would be risky, sire. To move our army miles without being discovered…”

“But I could help with that!” Merlin burst forth eagerly, and then stopped, looking nervously at Arthur, who nodded for him to continue. “I could summon fog to shroud our movements.”

“We don’t know exactly where Bayard’s army will be,” Leon pointed out. “It won’t do for us to be stumbling around the countryside with no notion of where we’re going.”

“I can find out where he is,” Merlin insisted. “This will work, sire, I know it.”

Arthur searched Merlin’s face. “You’re certain that you can do this, Merlin?”

“Yes.” Merlin’s eyes pleaded with Arthur, and Gwaine could almost hear the unspoken words. _Trust me; trust me._

Arthur let out a long breath. “Very well. But Merlin, if at any point in this, I order you to stop, you will do so, is that clear?”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, a touch flippantly, and Arthur’s eyes narrowed. But the smile on Merlin’s face was so bright, so happy, that Arthur let it go.

*

They drew closer to the river, still following the road so that if Bayard had any spies out, they would think Arthur was walking into the trap at the ford. Arthur called a halt when there was still light in the western sky, and he, Merlin, and Gwaine rode a slight distance away from the camp into a sheltered clearing.

“First I’ll go find out where Bayard’s army is camped,” Merlin said, sliding off his horse. “When I get back, it will probably take me most of the night to summon a fog that will last as long as we’ll need it to, but be ready to move out first thing in the morning.”

“And just how do you plan on spying out what Bayard’s doing?” Arthur demanded, looking torn between irritation and worry.

“Like this,” Merlin said with a grin. His eyes flashed and suddenly he disappeared, leaving only his clothes in a bundle on the ground.

Arthur cried out, but a second later, Merlin’s jacket rustled and out hopped—

“A robin, Merlin? Really?” Arthur said, sounding amused.

Gwaine laughed. “Merlins eat robins for breakfast, you know.”

The robin fluffed its feathers, managing to look indignant.

“Come now, we’re only joking,” Gwaine coaxed, holding out his hand. “It’s a very impressive spell.”

Merlin fluttered into Gwaine’s hand and landed awkwardly. Arthur reached out to touch him, and Merlin pecked his finger.

“Ouch!” Arthur glared. “ _Mer_ lin!”

Merlin twittered in a satisfied way and took off, winging his way swiftly into the forest.

“Watch out for hawks!” Gwaine shouted after him.

They stood silently for many long minutes. Finally, Gwaine touched Arthur’s shoulder. “Come, let’s return to camp.”

“He’ll be all right,” Arthur said, half a statement, half a question.

“Of course he will. And if he finds us still here waiting for him when he gets back, like two old nursemaids, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

 

*

Merlin did not return until night had fallen. Gwaine was checking on the horses (for the third time, but it gave him an excuse to peer hopefully into the forest without Arthur noticing) when there was a rustle and a little chirp, and he turned to find Merlin sitting on a branch.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Gwaine breathed.

Merlin chirped again, preening his feathers.

“Yes, yes, well done and all that.” Gwaine frowned at him. “Please don’t tell me you’re stuck like that.”

The robin squawked and hopped up and down.

“Oh, right. It would be a bit awkward to walk into camp naked.” Gwaine offered his arm. “Come on, then. We’ll get you into Arthur’s tent.”

Merlin settled on his shoulder, his chirps sounding tired to Gwaine’s ears. As they neared the campfire in front of Arthur’s tent, he called out, “Sire, I need to speak with you for a moment. In private.”

Arthur looked up, caught sight of the robin, and practically tripped in his haste to get over to them. He whisked Merlin, who was cheeping loudly, into his hands.

“Merlin,” he murmured, stroking the robin’s breast. “You’re all right.”

Merlin trilled a little song, and Gwaine, rolling his eyes, pushed them into the tent. The next second, Arthur had an armful of Merlin, who tottered unsteadily on his legs.

“Got you,” Arthur said, holding him, while Gwaine found some clothes.

“You’re not to fly off like that again, Merlin,” Arthur added sternly, letting go reluctantly so that Merlin could pull on a pair of breeches. “If you must be a robin, I’ll not have you flying about in the twilight when there are owls and wolves and foxes and gods know what else around.”

“I was perfectly safe!” Merlin retorted. “I can still do magic when I’m a bird, you know. A wolf wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

Gwaine laughed at the image that presented, Merlin grinned, and Arthur attempted to maintain an angry frown but failed after a moment and smiled, too, shaking his head. “Fine—fine—what did you find out, then?”

“Bayard is camped about five miles from the ford. The terrain is forested, but I think we should be able to push through if we cross the river to the south.”

“It’s still chancy,” Gwaine said, “but I think it’s our best bet. Provided all goes according to plan.”

Merlin hesitated, and then said quickly, “But we don’t have to take a chance at all. Arthur, if you would just let me fight, I could take the ford, and—”

“No!” Arthur slammed his fist onto the table, sending a cup of wine clattering to the ground. “Dammit, Merlin, how many times do I have to tell you that you will not take part in this battle?”

“But I’ve just used my magic for you, Arthur,” Merlin protested. “I’m helping you win the battle, now, by spying on Bayard like I just did. And if you let me fight—none of your men would have to die.”

Arthur sank down into his chair. “Gods, I knew I should have left you behind. I _knew_ it.”

Merlin looked stricken, and Gwaine stepped forward, laying a comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “How can you say that to him?” he demanded. “After all he’s done for you?”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Arthur growled. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“What don’t I know?” Gwaine asked, ignoring Merlin’s attempts to quiet him. “Do you think I don’t know that Merlin is brave? That Merlin would give his life to protect you? That you’re terrified he’ll get hurt? Maybe you should think about how your actions affect him, Arthur, for once in your life!”

“You’re a fool,” Arthur said, standing up again, taking an angry step towards Gwaine. “What do you know besides the bottom of an ale glass? Merlin has _always_ been at my side and now—”

“What, Arthur?” Merlin broke in, his voice questioning, desperate. “Please. Just tell me.”

Arthur made a helpless gesture, his expression pained. “All I can think about is Morgause or—or Morgana.”

Gwaine had a handful of Arthur’s tunic before he quite knew what he was doing. “You think Merlin would ever—could ever become like them?” he demanded, shaking Arthur.

Arthur gripped Gwaine’s arm, wrenching him off, bearing him into the table with a crash.

“Stop!” Merlin pried them apart, getting between him and Arthur. “We don’t have time for this right now.”

Breathing hard, Gwaine stepped back. Arthur glared at him a moment longer and then looked away, his eyes skimming over Merlin before coming to rest on the ground.

Merlin said quietly, “I swore to obey you. I will not cast the spell, if you do not wish it, sire.”

Arthur flinched at the use of the honorific. “Cast the spell,” he said after a moment’s silence.

Merlin bowed and walked out of the tent. Gwaine cast another furious glance at Arthur and then followed him.

“No,” Merlin said, holding up his hand. “You don’t need to come.”

“I can guard you. It’s dangerous—”

“I need to be alone!” Merlin snapped.

Stung, Gwaine stopped, watching as Merlin walked away, disappearing into the surrounding trees. He spent a cold night alone in his tent, snatching a scant hour or two of sleep. Already, he could sense the change in the weather. When he glanced outside, tendrils of mist were rising from the ground. And the light burned in Arthur’s tent until dawn.

*

The fog closed around them as the army moved towards the river. Every sound seemed dulled—the clanking armor, the whickering of the horses, the creaking wagons. Merlin rode at the front, a cloaked and hooded figure. He hardly had spoken a word, and Gwaine thought he looked pale and strained when he caught a glimpse of Merlin’s face.

The river appeared suddenly before them, rushing along in a swirl of grey water and black rocks. Merlin dismounted and crouched on the bank. Gwaine could hear the uneasy rustle of the soldiers, the whispers about magic and sorcery. Arthur strode over to Merlin’s side, standing tall and straight and unafraid. The whispers died down, and silence fell.

The crack of stone split the quiet. Dirt and rocks heaved up before them, and the front of the column fell back, crying out. Rising out of the ground at Merlin’s feet came a broad arch of stone, curving across the river, as wide and smooth as the finest bridges, crafted by expert masons, that Gwaine had seen on his travels. The bridge drilled its way into the soft dirt on the opposite bank, and then the heaving of the earth ceased.

Merlin stood slowly, swaying slightly. Arthur put a steadying hand on his arm, but Merlin drew back. “It is ready to cross, sire,” he said. “But make haste—it is difficult to hold the shape for very long.”

Arthur started shouting orders. Leon was the first to set foot on the bridge, and as he crossed safely and easily, some of the trepidation left the men, although many still looked as though they expected the stone to melt away under their feet as they crossed the river. Arthur and Merlin were the last to cross, and Gwaine could see Merlin shaking under the strain of the spell. Arthur must have noticed, too, but his face was calm, and he did not hurry his horse across.

When Merlin let the spell go, the rocks cracked and crumbled into the water.

“You should stay here and rest,” Arthur said to Merlin, but Merlin shook his head.

“You need me to guide you to Bayard’s camp,” he replied. “I’m fine.” He shot Arthur a defiant look. “I’ve been through worse, after all.”

The fog remained as they started forward once more, although Gwaine started to see lighter patches of sky through the clouds. Arthur sent scouts on ahead, who reported that Bayard was still in camp, that no word appeared to have reached him warning of their approach.

It was as they began to form into battle lines that Merlin came up to him.

“Gwaine, you must promise me that you will stay by Arthur’s side,” he said, and he laid his hands on Gwaine’s shield and whispered a spell. “There. That should help.”

“As though I needed any,” Gwaine scoffed, grinning. But he turned serious once more as he gripped Merlin’s arm. “I swear to you, I will protect him. All of us will.”

Merlin managed a strained smile and pulled Gwaine into a hug. Then he made his way back through the lines of soldiers, to wait and watch, as Arthur had bade him.

*

Arthur gave him a small nod when he reined his horse in next to Arthur’s—all the apology he would get for last night, Gwaine knew. He had discovered that it was very difficult to remain angry with Arthur for long, though. He much preferred trying to make Arthur laugh so that the skin around Arthur’s eyes crinkled and he threw his head back in a joyful stretch. Just as he liked to draw those sleepy, lazy smiles out of Merlin as they lingered in bed on cold mornings.

Gwaine drew his sword. He could just make out the banners of Bayard’s army and the smoke of cook fires. Then the last tattered shreds of fog drew away, and the sun came out, shining on Excalibur in Arthur’s outstretched hand. Their army lined the fringes of the forest, poised to attack.

“For Camelot!” Arthur cried, and they all echoed him, the shout rolling out across the meadow.

Even taken by surprise, Bayard proved a wily foe. He managed to get his crossbowmen positioned on a small hill, and they raked the field with their arrows. Arthur’s line wavered, but seeing their king still galloping forwards, the men rallied and charged on. Soon, the battle narrowed down to the face of the man in front of him, the jarring shudder as their swords met, the hit to his shield that sent him staggering backwards.

Arthur fought like a man possessed, Excalibur scything through his opponents. Gwaine struggled to stay near him, guarding his back, but inevitably the press of battle inched its way between them.

“Arthur!” he shouted, shoving his way past a pikeman. “Arthur, wait!” His king was advancing alone, and Bayard’s knights were closing about him. Panicked, Gwaine ran after him. His yells drew the attention of the Mercian knights, and one turned to face Gwaine instead. His arms were aching with exhaustion, but he readied himself, slamming into the knight with his shield and catching the other’s blade against his sword.

His opponent got in a lucky hit, and Gwaine felt a stabbing pain in his thigh. Gritting his teeth, he tried to stay upright, though his leg shook under him. It took every trick he knew, but at last his blade slid between armor and flesh, and the knight collapsed, crashing to his knees in the churned soil. Breathing hard, Gwaine looked wildly about for Arthur.

A shock of blond hair caught his eye. Arthur’s helmet had come off, and blood marred his face. But he still fought, and as Gwaine watched, Bayard stepped up to meet him, and the two kings locked blades.

“Gwaine…” It was Lancelot, voice hoarse from yelling. Blood stained his sword and armor.

“Arthur fights Bayard,” Gwaine replied. A wave of dizziness rolled over him, and he clutched Lancelot’s arm.

“You’re hurt.” Lancelot hesitated, torn, and Gwaine pushed him forward.

“Go. Protect the king.”

Lancelot moved to Arthur’s side, guarding him against any other attacks while the two kings continued to fight. Sinking to the ground, Gwaine reached out, grabbed the cloak of one of the dead knights lying by him, and pressed it to his thigh to try and stop the bleeding.

Blood darkened the cloth, and Gwaine could feel consciousness slipping from him. He tried to keep his eyes open, focusing on Arthur as he forced Bayard back, Excalibur whipping lightning-quick through the air. But it was too much—the pain and the darkness overtook him, and Gwaine sank beneath it, slumping to the ground.

*

He awoke to find himself in Arthur’s tent. His thigh ached fiercely, and glancing down he found that the wound had been sewn and cleaned.

“Back with us?”

He turned to find Elyan sitting next to him, smiling.

“Apparently,” Gwaine managed to say past a dry throat. “Maybe.”

Elyan handed him a cup of wine and some bread. “Merlin said to give you this when you awoke.”

“What happened?” Gwaine gritted his teeth against another throb of agony. “Arthur—is he?”

“Fine. He killed Bayard and with their leader gone, most of the Mercians surrendered.”

“And the others?”

“All safe. Percival got an arrow in his arm, but it passed cleanly through. Merlin tended to him, just as he did to you.”

“I need to see him,” Gwaine said, starting to sit up, but his vision wavered, and he collapsed back down.

“Lie still, Gwaine,” Elyan advised, giving him some more wine. “I’ll go find him, tell him that you’re awake.”

Elyan was gone for some time. The light began to dim as evening fell, and Gwaine dozed a little, waking to the sound of footsteps. It wasn’t Elyan or Merlin, though, but Arthur.

“How are you?” Arthur asked, bending over him.

“Alive.” Gwaine raised an eyebrow. “You look as terrible as I feel.”

Arthur’s mouth lifted in a tired smile. His face had been cleaned and a bandage tied around the wound in his scalp, hair sticking up in tufts around the cloth. He looked weary and drained, and Gwaine could see the shadows of sorrow in his eyes for the men who had been lost that day.

“Where’s Merlin?” Gwaine asked. “Elyan was going to find him, but that was ages ago.”

“I sent Elyan to oversee the distribution of food and water to the Mercians.” Arthur sank into the chair with a tired sigh. “Merlin is tending to the wounded and refuses to stop, even though he’s practically falling asleep on his feet.”

“It tired him, using his magic like that.”

Arthur nodded and added softly, “But we would not have been victorious without him.”

“Why are you telling me that?” Gwaine demanded. “You should say it to Merlin.”

“I did.” Arthur glanced at the tent flap. “And I told him that if he didn’t stop and come rest, I’d have Percival carry him here.”

Gwaine chuckled. “You should take your own advice.” He inched carefully to the side. “Lie down.”

Arthur hesitated, but then took off his boots and lay down next to Gwaine’s uninjured side. “Gods, that feels good,” he muttered, burying his face in the pillow.

Gwaine put his arm around him. “You could take Mercia now, with Bayard dead.”

“Yes.” Arthur sighed and moved closer. “Do you know, I remember when I was a boy and Bayard came to visit my father. He called me a good lad and said I looked just like my mother. And now he’s dead, at my hand.”

Gwaine stroked Arthur’s back. “It was an honorable fight.”

“Yes.” Arthur sighed again, and a few moments later, fell asleep. Gwaine kept stroking him, and when Merlin appeared, held his finger up to his lips, shushing him. Merlin looked equally exhausted, his tunic stained with blood, although he had washed his hands clean. His face softened as he looked down at Arthur.

“You did well, my king,” he murmured, brushing his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

“And you,” he added, leaning down to give Gwaine a kiss. “My knight.”

“ _Our_ knight,” Arthur corrected, stirring and blinking sleepily up at Merlin. He reached for him, and Merlin stripped off his tunic and boots before joining them on the bed. It was a tight fit, and Merlin had to lie mostly on top of Arthur to avoid jostling Gwaine’s bad leg, but Gwaine doubted that Arthur minded.

“I’m glad it’s over,” Arthur said quietly, his arms tight around Merlin. “Just before the charge, I almost called for you. I almost asked you to ride into the battle at my side, wielding your powers.”

Merlin stiffened and drew away slightly. “And why didn’t you?”

“I’m not afraid that you’ll turn to evil, like Morgana,” Arthur said, his eyes a deep, clear blue as he looked at Merlin. “I’m afraid that _I_ will be the one to corrupt you.”

“You could never—”

Arthur stopped Merlin with a shake of his head. “Look at what my father did in his arrogance. He used magic for his own ends, forced it to twist fate, and the result was years of hatred and murder. You’ve laid your powers at my feet, Merlin, along with your trust.” Arthur’s voice caught. “Already you have had to do things for me—things that hurt you. I’m so afraid that I’m going to destroy you,” he finished in a whisper.

Listening to Arthur’s words, Gwaine felt humbled, just as he had when Arthur spoke at the Round Table, the day he knighted Gwaine. He had dwelled on the intrigue of the magic, admiring Merlin but also thinking mostly of how the magic could be used to aid their cause. He had not thought of the implications of using such powerful magic or what consequences Merlin might face.

Merlin was shaking his head, and tears slipped down his cheeks. “You could never do that to me, Arthur. Never.” He kissed Arthur, little trembling kisses against the side of his mouth.

“But you said that you would do anything for me.” Arthur gently wiped away Merlin’s tears. “How can I stop myself when it would be so easy to use your powers, to wield you like a weapon a hundred times more powerful than Excalibur? I don’t want you to be that way, Merlin.”

“I’ll stop you,” Gwaine said. “You know I care little for your exalted station, sire, and will not hesitate to tell you if you’re being a fool.”

Arthur huffed a laugh, and Gwaine went on, “You have the courage to forge a new world, Arthur. And Merlin has the magic to make it possible.”

“But all that power, all that glory—it will be so easy to fall under its sway,” Arthur protested, looking at him with pleading eyes over Merlin’s head. “So easy to turn down the wrong path.”

Gwaine laid his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I have the strength to hold you both steady on a course that is good and just.”

They turned to him then, his dear Merlin and his brave, joyous Arthur, and he found himself held close in warm arms.

“Our knight,” Merlin said, kissing him.

“You will stay with us,” Arthur murmured.

“I am yours,” Gwaine promised.


End file.
